Knights and Jesters
by Fantastic Pants
Summary: Some would say it was an accident, others would call it fate. I don't really care what you call it. It was the first time I met an evolved human. It changed everything. [BennetOMC] A short interlude series to Spectrum of Grey.
1. Part One

_Knights and Jesters_

**Part One**

* * *

Nineteen Seventy Nine didn't start as an eventful year. High school was high school, with the same anachronistic social rituals, the oddly colored Jell-O, and the ever-mysterious phenomenon known as football. Books were the only practical refuge, and even they were starting to get old. It felt like a scratched record had taken over my life, playing a tune I was tired of marching to. 

Then came the day that broke routine. It had the perfect ingredients for disaster - a pretty girl, a mindless pack of bullies, and a conveniently placed chair.

Some would say it was an accident, others would call it fate.

I don't really care what you call it.

Two weeks later I found myself in the prison of my father's choosing.

It was the first time I met an evolved human.

It changed everything.

* * *

_Safe Haven – An Institution for Troubled Youth. _

A string of meaningless, generic words; their existence justified only by the dusty plaque they were attached to.

Not that anyone actually read them. Could have said 'Welcome to Wonderland' to the same effect.

The building itself didn't look like much, either. In fact, it looked distinctly like nothing. Only it was a nothing made of bricks and concrete.

The interior wasn't any better. Like the exterior turned inside out. Even the temperature was the same.

Entering my assigned room, I was greeted by the welcoming sight of feet dangling from the top bunk.

I lifted my gaze to find the owner of the feet in question.

Brown hair, green eyes, a purposefully hazy expression.

I extended my hand in greeting.

"Hi, I'm –"

"A troubled youth," he helpfully completed my sentence for me.

"No," I paused, letting my arm drop since it looked like no handshake was imminent. "Not exactly. I'm not really supposed to be here."

"I know," it was a tone of apathetic understanding. "But you're troubled, and you're a youth, and so you're here."

"I'm not particularly troubled, either."

It took him a whole second to come up with an answer.

"Sure you are. You can't help that. We're all troubled." He grinned. "I'm troubled. You're troubled."

"We're all troubled _here_, you mean."

If he was intent on misquoting a fictional cat, he might as well do it right.

"Not what I said."

"Okay." Since logical argument didn't seem a viable route, I decided to return to the mandatory introduction, "So I'm-"

"Bennet."

"Right." He must've been informed about me. "And you are?"

"Adam."

"It's nice to-"

Displaying the ability to be impressively rude without saying a word, he turned to his back and proceeded to resolutely stare at the ceiling.

"…Alright then."

I started to unpack my luggage.

There was one word that summed this all up.

A perfect word.

_Bleak_.

Oh well.

If bleak had no problem with me, then I had no problem with bleak.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

* * *

"So how do you like it in this fine establishment, Bennet?"

Using the grotesquely generic bathroom mirror to its full potential, I met Adam's intruding reflection with a raised eyebrow.

"My name isn't actually Bennet, you know," I reminded him.

"Is now."

I sighed and resumed shaving. "It's not that bad, really. I expected worse."

"Electric shock therapy?"

"That'd be nice. But I was thinking more in the guillotine direction."

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "No, they had to get rid of those. Too messy, goes against health regulations."

"That's too bad."

He leaned back against the wall, watching me through the mirror.

"You're a knight," he remarked suddenly.

Sadly, having spent a few days with him, I was all out of double takes.

"A what?"

"Stupid hair, shining armor - all that stuff. Kind of disgusting, really."

"I'm not a knight." I couldn't quite believe I was having this discussion. "And my hair is not stupid."

"You're here for protecting a girl. Textbook knight." He concluded the brilliant analysis by giving my hair a judgmental look-over, "And yes, it is."

"I'm _here_ for smashing a chair into someone's face."

I hoped the hint wasn't too subtle.

"Now you're just getting technical." Apparently, he wasn't the hint taking type. "And don't worry about being away. Your girlfriend will _love_ that you're doing time for her."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"She will be. Trust me."

Trust wasn't the most prominent response he was generating.

"If you say so."

He didn't say anything else, returning to his watchful stance.

He was more unnerving when he was quiet.

I broke the silence.

"What are you here for?"

"Being a freak," he answered casually.

"That's a good reason," I admitted. "I haven't made it past weirdo, myself."

"How about weirdo creep?"

"I should try for that."

"I think you've got it in you," he smiled encouragingly.

"Thanks."

"So…" A devious note entered his voice, "Is that Sandra chick hot?"

The razor slipped, slicing into my cheek.

I winced, taking in the damage before turning to him.

"I didn't tell you her name."

"I guessed."

"Pretty lucky guess."

"Guess I'm pretty lucky."

I kept a hard glare locked on him, making it very clear that I wasn't finding it amusing.

"I looked through your file," he admitted finally, shrugging.

"You had no right to do that."

He blatantly bypassed the accusation, reaching for a roll of toilet paper instead.

An annoying twinkle was present in his eyes as he pressed the paper against the cut in my cheek.

"A clumsy knight. New brand."

I ignored him – the best technique for situations of this sort. Then I remembered the unanswered question.

"Yes," I responded belatedly.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, she's hot."

He grinned lopsidedly.

"Well, it's something."

* * *

"Told you you're a knight."

"Mmmf," wasn't the best response I could think of, but it was the most eloquent I could muster.

Throwing and taking a few punches for a roommate who'd magically transformed into a catatonic scarecrow obviously qualified as the quick ticket to knighthood these days.

Once the ache in my jaw had receded moderately I worked on regaining my speaking ability. "You could have done something other than just standing there."

"I'm a pacifist," he explained unapologetically.

"Pacifism is unrealistic." And a pretty bad excuse, for that matter.

"Who said I was realistic?"

"Not me."

I hoped this would be enough to kill the conversation. Pulling out a book from my bag, I sat back on the bed, doing my best to drown myself in the word stream.

He was intent on not letting that happen.

A few sentences in, I was interrupted by his head popping by uninvited, not to mention upside down.

"What are you reading?"

"1984."

"What's that?"

"Science fiction."

A raised brow looked odd when reversed – not a week into my stay here, and I was already learning fascinating new facts.

"Didn't you just call _me_ unrealistic?"

"It _is_ realistic," I'd had that discussion more than a few times, and it rarely ended well. "Realism isn't static - it evolves."

Strangely enough, he didn't provide a counterpoint. Maybe his erratic grasp of most things logical had a certain advantage to it.

"So what's it about?"

"It's a dystopia," I paused, realizing that it might've been too big a word for him, "that's the opposite of -"

"I know what it is, Bennet."

"Oh." I hadn't expected that. "It's about a futuristic totalitarian government-"

"You identify with him, don't you?"

"Who?"

"Winston."

"I thought you hadn't read the book."

"Never said that."

He could make a living specializing in headache production and selling Tylenol.

I closed my eyes, letting the book cover my face like a miniature coffin.

"Well?" He wasn't about to let it go.

"I guess I do. That's kind of the point."

"You a rebel, Bennet?" a mocking edge enwrapped the question, poking at a skin-level but threatening to go deeper if given the chance.

"No," I put the book aside, attempting to keep my impatience at a minimum. He wasn't making it easy. "It's not about being a rebel. It's about seeing through the layers of bullshit. About being yourself even when it's next to impossible."

"Are _you_ yourself?"

He was making me seasick, and it wasn't just the upside-down position he'd strategically chosen.

"I don't know."

"You really should."

"I'll get right on that," I assured him.

He nodded with approval, unfortunately failing to bang his head in the process.

"1984. That's five years from now," he noted astutely.

"Yeah."

"Think that's how the world's gonna be like in five years?"

"It's allegorical, Adam."

"I'm not stupid."

Well, it was a bit hard to tell, sometimes.

"I don't know. Maybe that's how it's already like. Take this place for example. Controlled environment, subtle brainwashing-"

"Bad food."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

His face changed, acquiring a quality that was somehow sharp and vague simultaneously. For a second there, I wasn't sure it was the same guy. "Just so you wouldn't get carried away with that little analogy of yours. There's no Big Brother here. Nobody's watching. Nobody gives a fuck." He retreated to his bunk, his voice growing distant. "This isn't a totalitarian reign, Bennet. It's a domesticated anarchy."

His next words were carried on a somber, desolate whisper, as if he hadn't even intended on uttering it.

"You're all alone."


End file.
